


The Great Finale

by Zugzwang (thunderdone)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 14:33:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3814063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderdone/pseuds/Zugzwang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not many people dwell on their last meal. The exception of the generalization of "most" is criminals, such as the Fake AH Crew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Great Finale

**Author's Note:**

> This is just an idea I had from a conversation with my mum, because apparently, some guy with a terminal illness decided to only eat ice cream for breakfast for the rest of his life.

It was never in any heist's plan to get caught, preferably, everyone would make it out alive and kicking. In the end, money really didn't matter as long as they were alive. But, of course, there were those nights where wails of pain haunted their dreams, along with an image of a familiar, bloody hand being torn away. The consequence of being caught only would ever end in an ultimatum: death. From Los Santos to Boston to London, people wanted their heads, and eventually, they would have them on platters. 

Sure, before their downfall, there would be nights in prison, days in court, a world of pain and panic, and then a single cell. The real thought was the night before the injection or firing squad, whatever way they died. There would be no real way to prepare for the next day, but it was entirely possible to live it before it could beset upon them. The fabric of night did that, it provided a wormhole. But there was one more odd thing each of them knew in the back of their minds. In secret, each member of the Fake AH knew what their last meal would be. 

Geoff, the leader, had long before decided to go out in style, whatever way he did. Weather it be Thelma and Louise or a cyanide pill in the back of a truck, or just giving them hell, it had to be classy. He had decided on, at around the age of thirty-four, that if it was possible, he would have a Soupe à Loignon, which probably tastes just as good as it sounds, along with whiskey, again, if he could. It was supposed to have some cheese, biscuit, onions, and tomato something or other and really didn't look like a soup at all. He had found it once in a cookbook someone had scrapped in an old bookshop. 

Gavin, probably the most childish of the groups had decided in the middle of a heist that was going badly. He just wanted chicken nuggets and fries ("but not those icky, floppy things, the ones that have a layer of crisp before the actual potato to them," he had written down in a logbook a few days later). Those brought back good memories of when he first arrived in America and was driven to his new lace by Geoff. They had stopped to get some drive-through food at one in the morning, and the sleep stuck in his brain said chicken nuggets.

Jack's decision was made in the middle of a chase, while Michael was leaning out of the passenger's side window shooting as he sped through twists and turns of backroads. He decided that he didn't want to cause any more trouble for those who worked at or in association with law enforcement. He would just ask for the average prisoner's meal, whatever that may be for the jail, whatever was the closest meal. Jack wanted to go quietly, prove that really he was a nice guy, his idea of good work was just different. 

Michael used process of elimination to find his final feast. He wouldn't be as stubborn as to refuse food, but he wouldn't rob them of all their stores. He didn't want it to be an ordinary meal either, though, but it didn't have to be lavish. It had to have just the right amount of 'well, I might as well have something good' and 'no, fuck you and your cooking'. He decided on a ham and cheese sandwich on white bread with mayonnaise and mustard. On the side, there would be a small bowl of barbecue chips and then a small bowl of cantaloupe. Oh, and cherry-vanilla coke. It just felt perfect; some difficulty and some ease in the cooking. 

Ryan went straight for the 'fuck you' food. He wasn't as focused on his last meal as he was his last words, the things that would escort him to whatever laid before him. A single Lima bean, which he would not eat, would be the meal he requested. Ryan had also decided that his last words would be ones he stole, full of satire: Nothing, only ‘love one another.'"

Ray's last were inside jokes, two compiled into one: A Black Forest cake with eight strawberries around the edge and a candle in the middle. To whomever asked him what his final choice of meal was, his only answer, whispered in a hushed tone, would be,"Lies."


End file.
